


tobin batra is totally not jealous of joan

by typingcat



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Party, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typingcat/pseuds/typingcat
Summary: Tobin's requested to make an appearance at Chirp's launch party and he's not happy about it.
Relationships: Tobin Batra/Leif Donnelly
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	tobin batra is totally not jealous of joan

**Author's Note:**

> i started reading red, white, and royal blue recently and this fic wouldn't shut up in my brain last night so HERE IT IS. tobin and leif are in love, the end.
> 
> there's a heart song sort of alluded to in here; i'll post at my notes at the end where it is :o) you can find it!
> 
> this is seriously not my best work, it's fluffy and perhaps a little rushed (but only i'm allowed to say that guys, okay? LOL) i would love feedback and comments if you are so inclined to share!

Today is Friday. There are approximately ten hours before the SPRQ Point Chirp launch party, and Tobin Batra is very, very moody. He isn’t sure why, exactly. And not knowing makes him even moodier. Among program development and hacking the government’s online databases, Tobin’s additional talents include compensating for and/or repressing his emotions. So it makes tremendous sense that as the hours dwindle during the workday, Tobin becomes increasingly anxious, and increasingly dick-like.

Tobin would be the first to admit he does not demonstrate the epitome of kindness or raw, honest, feeling. He pushes down his challenging emotions with the mask of low-brow comedy. He has a tendency to be snarky, especially in the face of stress, and today he is _stressed_. Joan and Leif are supposed to deliver some big speech at tonight’s event, and the thought of Leif standing side-by-side with the fourth’s floor head honcho creates a pit in his stomach Tobin does not want to address.

It’s approaching five, and while most of the office has cleared out, Tobin is “troubleshooting” the software on a SPRQ Pad prototype, a new tablet-laptop device with a scheduled release date of December 2020 (he’s definitely troubleshooting, if troubleshooting means he has downloaded Flappy Bird onto the SPRQ Pad and is currently attempting to beat his high score).

He’s not the only one lingering around; the company pet, and _his_ boss, is approaching his desk with her signature kind, blue eyes (the ones that border on concern). Her mouth opens, as if to say something, but no words come out.

“What do you want, Raggedy Ann?” Tobin deadpans. Deflection. He is the king of it.

“I’m just…checking in. You seem pretty overwhelmed today, with all the talk of tonight’s party, and the SPRQ Pad, and…” she pauses, and Tobin looks up from his device to see what kept her stalling. Did she literally forget what she was talking about, or something?

“Not that it’s any of my business…but did you take up smoking recently?” She continues.

“Uh, what?” Tobin is caught off-guard by the inquiry, but already has a smart response prepared. “Up until last year, I lived in a two-bedroom with my straight-outtta-Punjab parents. Of _course_ I took up smoking. But only that good kush, though, you know what I’m saying?” He offers Zoey a high-five. She vaguely accepts, lightly placing her hand against his, as if the moment she touches him, he’ll break into pieces on the floor.

“So…no cigarettes?” She asks again for confirmation, “No Lucky Strikes, or anything like that?”

“No, what? You’re being weird. You know you’re of age, despite your teenage looks, right? So you can stroll on down to any convenience store and pick up a pack of smokes on your own.”

Zoey rolls her eyes and walks off towards the elevator (Max Richman is waiting for her there like a lost puppy about to be reunited with his owner. Tobin is usually fully invested in the workplace rumor mill and knows he _should_ be intrigued and simultaneously creeped out at the idea of his boss banging a subordinate, but the hot gos just isn’t hitting him like it used to).

“I’ll see you tonight,” she calls over her shoulder, but Tobin has already swiveled his chair with his Beats suctioning his ears. Most of the conversations with his boss end this way, even though it’s wrong, even though his constant dismissal of Zoey is sort of _sexist_ and she could take up him to H.R. about a _hostile work environment_ or whatever, his knee-jerk reaction is to act like a complete asshole. Because he’s internally agonizing over tonight, and he can’t figure out _the fuck why._

* * *

As a relatively new company in Silicon Valley, SPRQ Point has an image to maintain. Its branding caters to primarily millennials, along with Gen X’ers (and even some Boomers) with a better grip on the evolving technological playing-field. So that meant its parties could not be stuffy, or lame, or boring. They had to be engaging enough that people didn’t want to run home to watch HBO in realtime, but not so wild that college students from the surrounding area would try to crash.

As a major face of Zoey’s development team, Tobin was asked to arrive to the party at 8:00 sharp. He was to be photo-ready and put on his best face for the camera before other guests arrived, fully prepared to schmooze with Joan and Leif and Ava Price. Tobin arrives at 9:17 in the midst of another posse of brogrammers who are simply happy to be invited. He figures he would not be missed, since Joan and Leif were the “real” masterminds behind Chirp, but he’s also sort of spiteful. Leif relied _a lot_ on Tobin during the development of Chirp, but not in ways that mattered. Tobin was able to debug the glitches, develop parts of the software, and offer insight on the interface, and while Leif was appreciative, he seemed to prefer quality time with Joan. Which Tobin found endlessly _annoying_. And if he’s being honest, Tobin knows why, maybe, but maybe isn’t ready to _say anything_. Leif Donnelly is Tobin’s best friend. The Chandler to his Joey. The Cory to his Shawn. He’s not about to jeopardize that by telling Leif his feelings are possibly, maybe, beyond ones of platonic connection.

“You’re late,” Zoey approaches Tobin mere minutes after he enters the party. There’s loud music, there’s workplace-appropriate dancing, there’s dim lighting, and Tobin is at the bar, ordering a shot of whatever the bartender recommended, letting it slide down his throat without a chaser.

“So what?” Tobin retorts after slamming the shot glass back onto the bar.

“You were supposed to be here with the rest of us. You’re part of our team. Now, we’ll have to photoshop you into our pictures.” Zoey frowns.

“We work at a technology company. If no one can figure out how to create a convincing image of me in your little Team Chirp photoshoot, then there’s some serious Q and A that has to go down in our hiring process.”

“You’re upset,” Zoey’s voice is intentionally loud, competing with the loud synth beats played by a _super_ gender-progressive DJ, “and I know it. I can see it all over your face. You’re upset with Leif, aren’t you?”

Tobin doesn’t look away from the second drink he just ordered as he bites down on his lip, frustrated that he’s been found out. If _Zoey Clarke_ could figure out his emotions within five hours, it must have been obvious. The girl isn’t particularly bright outside of the realm of computer coding (there he goes, deflecting again).

“Did he tell you I told him to drop the _the_?” Tobin inquires, furrowing his brows. “And did you notice how much more traction we’ve gotten, both inside and outside of the company, since then? “The” is a technological product buzzkill. No good platform has ever risen to prominence with that grammatical article in front of it. It’s not called _The Facebook. The WhatsApp. The Tinder.”_

“Why haven’t you spoken to him yet?” Zoey counters Tobin’s question with one of her own, and she nudges him, jutting her chin in the direction of a very social, very prideful Leif Donnelly. Tobin’s breath unintentionally hitches when he sees him — Leif always looks handsome, but tonight, he’s dressed like he’s the man to know at this party. And he _is_. Leif is donned in a gray tweed suit-jacket that only he can pull off with dark red slacks, and suddenly Tobin is more aware of his blue chinos and hunter green sweater (a step up from his usual boldly-colored hoodies and bright sneakers — when it comes to dressing like a man of his age, anyway).

“You’ve got an opening,” Zoey presses on, and Tobin wants to ask her _why she’s pushing this so much_ but instead he saunters off with his drink towards Leif, where it appears his conversation with a potential investor is ending. His hand is approaching the small of Joan’s back and — _ugh_ , Tobin wants to throw up in his mouth a little, but instead he continues confidently in the direction of Leif Donnelly.

He taps on the back of Leif’s shoulder, and Leif spins around with an expected-turned-disappointed stare.

“Sorry I’m not a walking millionaire offering you the Bennies to put towards your next brilliant idea,” Tobin quips, “it’s just me, your best friend. Have you forgotten?”

Leif shakes his head with a small smile and Tobin is infuriated. _Is something fucking funny?\_

“You finally showed up,” he replies, attempting to maintain a cool composure.

“So you realized I hadn’t arrived,” the words escape Tobin’s mouth before he has a moment to catch them, and now he’s worried he appears too _needy_. Ew. “Thought you’d be too busy shaking hands and kissing babies to even notice.” Good, a recovery. _Sort of_.

“Can we not do this here?” Leif asks earnestly, ushering Tobin towards the exit doors. Instead of standing in the middle of a loud party in a dark club, they’re now outside in the cool San Francisco air. The street is dotted with lights of environmentally friendly cars and bicycles and scooters, the blaring music and drunken conversations can still be heard from their spot on the sidewalk, so Leif leads them around the block, up an incline where there is quiet — nothing but the empty pavement and a section of carefully planted sycamore trees that seemed awfully out of place for the west coast city.

“I’m surprised you left and are actually taking time to speak to me,” Tobin says as they approach the end of their brief walk, prompting Leif to roll his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Tobin knows he’s not playing fair, he’s not being kind, he’s actually being a pretty _bad friend_ in this moment — he’s lacking support during Leif’s big night and instead has it replaced by sarcasm and bitterness. But it’s like a switch in his brain he can’t turn off, keeping him from saying or doing the right thing.

“It means you’ve been acting really weird ever since this whole Chirp project started. Yeah. Susan from H.R. told me about you and Joan, and I didn’t think that when you said you wanted to run this place with me one day, that meant you’d be sleeping your way to the top.”

Leif visibly flinches as Tobin’s words, as though they’re daggers coming right for the jugular. Tobin’s holds a steady gaze on Leif, inexplicably frustrated, but confident, nonetheless. When Leif says nothing, Tobin continues. “You are talented enough to do _all this_ without fucking the boss. What are you even _thinking_ , man? Not exactly your wisest decision in a post “Me Too” era. Three are so many ways this could be spun. Not to mention, you can rise to power without pimping yourself out to get there.”

“I know,” is all Leif can say back, lacking confidence and nerve, so Tobin doesn’t buy it.

“And another thing,” Tobin adds on, “it was pretty annoying for you to come to me for almost _every_ little problem with Chirp, but when It came to recognizing the work I did, or even saying so much as _thanks, bro_ , I got nothing. I know this project is your baby and everything, and it’ll put you — it’ll put _us_ — on the map. But —”

“I hear you,” Leif interrupts, “and I’m sorry. I should have given you more credit for the strides you made with Chirp. I didn’t mean to leave you out, I guess I just got caught up in the…in the thrill of it all.”

Tobin scoffs at Leif’s choice of words. _Thrill_? “Yeah, I’m sure _developing Chrip_ has been a real _thrill_ for you, Leif,” he replies knowingly.

“What can I do to make this right, so that we’ll go back inside _together_ and celebrate what’s supposed to the coolest moment of our careers? What do you want me to do?”

“To not sell yourself out. To be a better friend.”

“To be a better friend. That’s it?”

Tobin realizes too late that Leif was likely questioning the specifics and/or the simplicity of Tobin’s request. Maybe Leif was trying to confirm Tobin’s conditions, or assure that was really all Leif had to do to get back in Tobin’s good graces. But when Tobin hears _that’s it_ , he’s contemplating if Leif has also been grappling with these difficult feelings surrounding their friendship, and if Leif is, indeed, questioning their just-friends relationship status. Without registering what Leif’s echo likely meant, Tobin has pushed Leif against the trunk of one of the sycamores and meets his lips in a bold and hungry kiss.

Tobin Batra is _mortified_.

The action happens before he can understand it, before he can process it, and he can’t take it back. And just as Tobin is prepared to pull away, apologize, and make a run for it, he feels Leif’s lips pressing firmly against his own. His heartbeat starts to race as he fully grasps the extent of the sensations surrounding them. Tobin’s hands trail towards Leif’s hair, letting his fingers run through as Leif parts his lips to deepen the kiss. Seconds feel like minutes before Tobin pulls himself from Leif promptly with an unusual mixture of confusion and infatuation swirling behind his gaze.

“Wow,” Leif breathes, more to himself than to Tobin, and Tobin backs away, stunned with his behavior, stunned with Leif’s, and without a word, speed-walks back towards the club. He doesn’t notice Leif doesn’t come after him, he doesn’t anticipate what’s to come in the upcoming hour, much less what will happen at work on Monday.

_What the fuck did I just do?_

**Author's Note:**

> the smoking bit in the first part is zoey hearing troye sivan's "lucky strikes." i thought it was an interesting pick for zoey to hear tobin singing about leif. :p
> 
> thank you for reading!! xx


End file.
